Without moving anything / I want to see / the way this autumn / makes the birds move. - Mirkka Rekola

FOG: Fog covers this region. / Can you still hear my voice? / I don't understand trees. / They try to grab our hair. / A branch has fallen on you. I know that. / Could you look behind me: / is there a load / on my back, as well?

One a child, one old / almost half a century apart // both / need my hand in this city

Stood there who knows how long looked / at the clouds the hedge / when someone came out of the door it was her daughter.